The Gondor Sagas
by Denethor
Summary: A dramatic saga spanning the life of Gondor's most notorious Steward, Denethor II.


The house was silent, save for the cries that echoed through the corridors. Ecthelion stood in his chamber, resting his aching head in his hands. There was no sleep to be had that night, not with such events taking place. Now the sun was rising once more above the mountains, and still the midwives and servants traipsed back and forth from a small bedchamber at the end of the east wing. Within that bedchamber he knew his wife would be doubled up in pain and fear, clinging frantically to the sheets that would now be stained with blood.  
There was a clatter outside the door, followed by a flurry of questioning. Ecthelion raised his weary head and stumbled out into the hall. A group of guards stood in salute to the son of the Steward, and a man garbed in the livery of Gondor rushed forwards.  
"My lord," he bowed excitedly "I bring joyous news."  
Ecthelion started and looked up.  
"You have a son, my lord. The lady has delivered a healthy boy."  
Around him the men erupted into cheers. Ecthelion walked swiftly to the presence chamber, where the nobles of the court were gathered to wait for news. When they saw his smiling face, there were cries of praise for Gondor and for Ecthelion.  
"Congratulations, my lord! We are overjoyed by this happy event." Belegil, his father's most trusted captain, bowed and slapped him on the shoulder.  
"You are bidden to your good lady, I presume?" Belegil's wife appeared beside him. A charming, witty lady, Alesse was admired by many at court and had a favoured position as close companion to Ecthelion's wife.  
"Where else, my lady. And yourself?" he took her hand in greeting and kissed it.  
"I shall visit her later, when she is recovered. If you permit it, of course."  
"As you wish." Ecthelion smiled and continued towards the antechamber that separated the crowded room from the bedchamber.  
  
The room was dark and stifling. The heavy curtains were drawn shut, and a woman sat by the fire stoking the flames higher still. The bed hangings had been ripped aside to make way for the stream of midwives and physicians. Ecthelion approached his wife, who lay exhausted upon the mattress. Servants carefully lifted the bloodstained linens from around her and carried them from the room. She looked up as he took a seat beside her bed.  
"My lord." She greeted him with a faint smile, still weak from the birth of her baby.  
Ecthelion ignored all formality and the remaining midwives, and kissed her as a husband would kiss his wife in the privacy of their chamber.  
"We have a boy." He kissed her again. "My beloved wife has given me a son."  
She smiled at the joy of her husband and raised herself into a half- sitting position. She winced at the pain that jolted through her body, and Ecthelion quickly took her hand.  
"What is it, my love? Shall I fetch the physician?"  
She shook her head and eased herself into a comfortable slouch against the pillows.  
"It was a difficult birth, that's all. The baby was heavy. He is strong, like his father."  
There was a noise at the door, and it swung open. A midwife entered the room and came towards the bed, her sturdy arms carrying a small bundle wrapped in linen swaddling. Ecthelion stood up to let her near the bed, and watched with pride as his son was placed in his mother's arms. He laid one hand on the baby's head and marvelled at the feeling of touching one's child for the first time.  
"He's a healthy baby, my lord." The midwife spoke. "He will make a fine lad."  
"Indeed he will." He smiled at the old woman. "Thank you."  
The woman curtsied and left the room. Ecthelion turned back to his wife, who was now singing softly to her sleeping son.  
"Well, we shall have to think of a name for him." he said.  
"Will we not name him after your father?" she asked, referring to Turgon, the current ruling Steward of Gondor.  
"Perhaps. But I was hoping to choose a different name. Something less well known."  
Suddenly a good deal of shouting exploded in the hall. Ecthelion opened the door and smiled at the sight of the revellers. Noticing his appearance, many raised their goblets of wine to toast his new son.  
"How does the lady fare, my lord?" asked one nobleman.  
"Very well, Inglor." he replied "And how about you?"  
"Drunk as a street beggar and very merry with it."  
Ecthelion laughed and turned back to the room. As he paused in the threshold, he felt the silent gleam of the statues that lined the flagstone walkway. Shadowed by the stone ceiling, the grey figures of bygone Stewards looked down upon him with a solemn gaze. He counted them off, one by one: Hador, Dior, Denethor, Boromir, Cirion... his ancestors, the great men of Gondor.  
Ecthelion entered the chamber once more and took in his surroundings. The curtains had been opened, and the light of morning filled the room with a brilliant glow. He walked over to his wife and stood at her side, remembering the calm bearing of the statues. He looked down at his son with the same intent gaze, and smiled to himself.  
"We shall name him Denethor." 


End file.
